


Grounded

by haikcuute



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, i guess? it's less hurt more comfort, post episode 159, this is really very soft overall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haikcuute/pseuds/haikcuute
Summary: It's cold. He's cold and it's too hard to move right now.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> I know we've all read like 5000 of these by now but what's one more? Gotta get my last hurrah in before season 5 makes me sad! Anyway I haven't written anything in forever and this was originally gonna be super short and just for myself but it turned into something a bit more so I thought I might as well post it?

It’s hard to move. Martin sits there, considering his state with an uncomfortable mix of restlessness and apathy. He’s trying to get up, he is. He _is_? (He’s not.) But his body isn’t cooperating, or perhaps it’s different than that. Maybe it’s his will that isn’t cooperating. The signal is getting lost somewhere between the thought “I should get up” and its execution. No matter how long he stares at his legs, at his knees pulled up to his chest and covered in the soft knitted throw, they all stay the same.

He’s not really thinking about it, but there are sounds in the room. To him they are distant, unintelligible, and lap like quiet waves against his mind. Just out of reach.

How long does he sit there? Unmoving, unchanging, alone. Distant sounds, knees to his chest, a long cold mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him that he’d made hours ago.

Ah, no, he hadn’t made that tea though had he? Martin turns his head towards it and blinks at it for a few moments.

Who had made that tea?

He moves his hand a little, touches the blanket now. Someone else had put this over him. The corner of Martin’s mouth twitches to curve upwards slightly. The sounds near him get a little louder. Less like waves and more constant now. With a slightly deeper breath than the last one he had taken in, Martin tries to listen a little closer.

They’re voices. He’s hearing… people. This is because the television is on in front of them, he thinks suddenly. Of course, he’s hearing the television. The voices become slightly more defined, and Martin lifts his chin slightly as someone laughs. 

Wait, “in front of _them_ ”?

Something changes and he feels it like a tiny almost tangible _pop_ in his head as he turns his head to the side to realize that he is not alone. The world shifts a tiny, indiscernible amount and Martin takes a long (slightly shaky) deep breath, imagining the exhale as a soft wind blowing away the fog and the cobwebs in the corners of his vision.

Jon sits next to him on the couch, and he’s asleep, also under the blanket, sitting upright but cross-legged, head leaned back against the cushions. His mouth is slightly open and the crease between his eyebrows is still there like always, though perhaps a little smoother than when he is awake. Martin focuses in on him, on his presence beside him, and he feels some warmth returning to limbs he didn’t know had been growing cold.

Without thinking about it, Martin drops his feet to the floor leans forward, picking up the cold teacup. He had actually drank some of it, he remembers as he looks at it. Jon had made it for him before they’d started the movie. He’d forgotten to keep drinking it but had held it the entire time it was warm, only setting it on the table in front of them as Jon had spread the dark green knitted blanket (found thrown over the back of the couch) over the two of them.

Credits start to roll as the movie finishes, and Martin uses that as an impetus to stand. Very carefully, mind, as the blanket still cover Jon as well, and he doesn’t want to wake him. It’s still hard to move, very hard to move, but for the moment he is able to ignore the barrier that wants to go up between his brain and his limbs, and quietly carries the teacup to the sink and cleans it out.

The feeling creeps up on him again as his back is turned and he can’t see Jon anymore. His movements become more difficult, as if the air he’s moving through is gradually congealing, and the teacup feels so cold it’s as if it’s made of ice, but Martin sets his jaw and focuses in on the music playing softly behind him as the credits of the movie continue. The upbeat tune is slightly surreal against the backdrop of the memories of the Lonely that hover around him. But it’s grounding, and he lets his shoulders relax slightly as he sets the clean teacup up to dry and pauses to listen.

Martin starts quite a bit, then, when there’s soft footsteps behind him and a hand rests gently on the small of his back. He relaxes again though after a moment, and feels a smile pull at him. Grounding.

“Hi Jon.”

He moves a little closer to Martin, though not quite close enough, and Jon makes a small sleepy _hmm_.

Martin dries his hands briefly on his pants, and carefully turns around with his too heavy limbs. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t wake you.” He notices the hand fall and tries not to miss it.

Jon shakes his head slightly and turns as well, leaning back against the counter next to Martin. Their elbows bump and it is warm. Jon had brought the blanket with him and wore it around his shoulders like a shawl, or a cape. He lifts the side of it in an offering, and Martin shifts and ducks a little so he can fit under it next to him.

Slowly, the cold is creeping out of Martin’s bones. Though the ache still remains.

“You... you can still feel it, can’t you.” Jon’s voice is quiet, all traces of inquiry carefully removed from the words, but the question implicit all the same.

Martin sighs. “Bet I always will, really, at least a bit. I mean, it keeps…” he shakes his head, dispelling the memory of earlier, when he was all too sure he was sitting alone in silence. “It keeps sneaking up on me, you know?”

Jon leans against him, a small movement but one that leaves his weight against Martin’s frame. He pays attention to the how real it feels, and Martin leans in a little too.

“I know.” Jon says. And it’s quiet for a few moments. “I’m here.”

“You’re here.” Martin repeats, ignoring the mist shrouded parts of him that wanted to argue. He breathes deeply again, trying once more to blow them away.

The television screen is back to the title menu now, and they watch a few loops of the video playing behind it. Martin looks down at his legs again, and wonders if he wants to move. Can he move? He considers things for a moment, and the weight of Jon’s head on his shoulder tells Martin that he definitely does not want to move just yet. Just in case though, he bends his knee and lifts his foot. Movement confirmed possible. Martin relaxes a little more, setting it down.

Jon slips a little off his shoulder as he moves, and Martin realizes he had been falling back asleep again, standing up this time. He makes a decision then that it is indeed moving time after all. But not by himself.

Gently, he straightens up from leaning on the counter and slightly dislodges Jon, only enough so he is awake and they can walk. “Come on,” he says as he puts a hand lightly on Jon’s back and steers him out of the kitchen. “You’re dead on your feet you should go to bed.”

Jon seems a little disgruntled at having been woken up but follows. “I suppose you’re right.” He yawns.

Martin yawns right back, as Jon slips out of the blanket to grab the remote and turn off the television. He feels the loss of warmth, and shivers even with the blanket around his shoulders. But then Jon is back and Martin is warm.

They navigate up to the bedroom while still both bundled up in their blanket. Martin’s legs are heavy and his joints are stiff but he’s moving, and every time Jon’s hip or shoulder bumps into him, he is grounded once again in the present, in having presence.

They do have to separate for a few moments before they sleep. Jon wants a different shirt Martin a softer pair of pants, and one of them remembers blearily that they should probably also brush their teeth.

Despite the closeness of a few moments before, when they’re both in bed (there was only one bedroom and the first night there they had discussed the pull out couch “Are you sure it’s okay Jon?” “Of course it is I’m not leaving you _alone_.” And that had been the end of that because what, was he going to argue?) Despite that, there’s space between them now, and he’s not quite exhausted enough to just fall asleep. Martin wants to reach across the gap, but all at once it’s become too hard to move again. The sheets are cold all around him and his muscles won’t listen to what he wants them to do.

He can still look though, in the faint light of the room there’s Jon, laying on his side and facing toward Martin. His eyes are mostly closed, but Martin knows he’s looking too.

Can he speak? He tries but he doesn’t hear anything, so he think it didn’t work. Maybe Jon hears him either way though, because he moves, reaching his hand out and resting it lightly on Martin’s. It’s warm, Martin thinks, as he flips his hand over to hold Jon’s properly. His less scarred one, though it didn’t matter.

It’s not like they haven’t been close, these last couple days in the house. Brushing past each other, a head on the shoulder a hand on the back. It never felt like enough though. And while he was getting better at it, every time a touch moved away Martin had felt himself drifting.

The stability he felt spreading from their hands must have freed his voice enough to whisper. Maybe freed it a little too much, he thought mildly as he heard himself speak. It wasn’t often he tried to ask for something. “Would it be okay with you to- would you mind er… could you-” It’s still difficult, and he takes a step back. “I’m… cold.”

Almost as if he’d been waiting and had a plan for just how to do this, Jon scooted further into Martin’s space. Their knees bump together and Jon’s head rests on top of Martin’s upper arm. Their hands are still linked, arms tucked in closely between them. Jon had moved carefully, not suddenly, but Martin still felt surprised, and blinked a few extra times at Jon’s face so close to his.

“You’re too cold” Jon says decidedly, and moves a little bit closer, putting his other arm over Martin’s side.

Martin knows he asked for this, and damn if he isn’t grateful for the warmth once again traveling through him, but he can’t help but feel guilty suddenly. “Jon, sorry if you’re not, I mean, you don’t have to- I mean, I’ll be okay, I just-”

“Martin.” Jon’s voice is firm. “I’m here because I want to be. I wasn’t sure if you needed space but as soon as you asked I realized that was… stupid. I want- I want to be close to you. You deserve to be cared for and I want to be the one who’s doing it.”

Well. Oh. Not exactly what Martin had been prepared for (what had he been prepared for??)

“Ah,” he says. Because he doesn’t know what to say yet.

“Thank you,” he says. Because he means it.

As an answer, Jon moves a little closer. He lifts his hand from Martin’s side to set it gently against his cheek. The sheets around them are no longer ice cold, but pleasantly warm, and Martin smiles a little. There’s no fog here at all, he’s not alone, no sound of waves, and no bone deep chill. Just Jon, the quiet rustle of the sheets as he leans in to kiss him, and warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://nept00n.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
